


May your heart always be joyful

by thebodyeclectic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Jack Kline, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebodyeclectic/pseuds/thebodyeclectic
Summary: And on the seventh day God ended His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. And He relinquished His Power and returned Free Will unto the World.And He was Jack again.(alternatively, "Dean learns how to be a good father and a good husband and finds happiness along the way.")
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 33
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

If you stay you won’t be sorry - Kooks, David Bowie

* * *

  
And on the seventh day God ended His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. And He relinquished His Power and returned Free Will unto the World.

And He was Jack again. Three years old - almost four! And because fixing everything Chuck ever did wrong was tiring work, he decided to take a nap on his father’s lap for he had concluded before gifting his Grace unto the world that he deserved one good thing just for himself and that one good thing would be his father, the angel Castiel.

At this point in time, Castiel had yet to realize that this would be the one and only time Jack would willingly go down for a nap of his own volition. This was a hard lesson he would learn soon enough in the upcoming weeks and months and years.

But for now, Cas looked down upon the sweet little child in his arms, looked up at the cosy blue house on the water with its bright yellow shutters and ramshackle fenced in overgrown yard, the old beaten up trunk that had seen better days, and smiled.

He made his way up the weatherbeaten front steps, opened the front door, planted a kiss on Jack’s forehead and walked into the start of the rest of their lives.

*

By all accounts, Jack was a bright and happy child, prone to the same fits of daydreaming and flights of fancy that afflicted every other child his age. He made friends easily, both in daycare and with the neighbourhood kids and, as such, had an overly full social calendar to the utter bewilderment of his flighty father, who already had such a nebulous relationship with the concept of time under normal circumstances.

Jack was late to daycare, late to playdates, late to birthday parties - this would have caused more alarm amongst the parents in his social circle if his older sister hadn’t shown up about a couple of months after the Klines had moved into the blue house and assuaged everyone’s fears about the perpetually disheveled single guy and his toddler.

Claire wasn’t too sure how to feel about being the ‘normal’ one in this ‘family unit’ but if it stopped people from trying to call Child Services on Cas and Jack, she could roll with the punches and take one for the team.

“Sweetie! It’s so good to see you! I’ve been meaning to ask your father,” Mrs Henderson, the nosiest of all busybodies in all of Tillamook, says cheerfully as she parks her butt next to Claire’s on the bench. “The slots at Sunday school are filling up quick! He should get a move on if he wants to secure a place for Jack.”

Claire pastes a polite smile on her face. “I’ll pass the message along, ma’am.”

“That’s a dear,” Mrs Henderson says, with a patronizing pat on Claire’s arm, and starts going on about a bake sale or something while Claire’s smile transforms into a frozen rictus on her face.

Curse her Midwestern manners else she’d be telling this lady to fuck off.

Claire makes a show of checking her watch. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got to head on home now. Got to pick some things up from the store for dinner.”

“Tell your father I said hello! And don’t forget about Sunday school!”

Claire nods politely, hefts Jack’s Star Wars backpack over one shoulder, and makes her way to the sandbox at one end of the park.

“Hey, buddy, it’s time to go home.”

Jack and his friend Andy look up from where they’re busy burying their other friend Shawn in the sand.

“Claire, look! Shawn’s a mermaid!” Jack beams up at her, drawing little curlicue scales on the makeshift tail.

“Good job, guys, but it’s almost time for dinner and we’ve gotta get going,” Claire says, rifling around for a wet wipe in Jack’s backpack.

“Aw, Claire, five more minutes, please?” Jack begs, making with the puppy eyes, hands clasped under his chin. Beside him, his friends do the same.

If she were made of less sterner stuff, she’d totally give in under that onslaught, but she ain’t. Plus, she’s got the fear of something else to put wind in her sail. Namely, Cas’s cooking.

“We gotta run by the store to pick something up for dinner. I’ll let you get one thing if we go now.”

Jack jumps to his feet. “Okay!” He grabs Claire’s outstretched hand and pulls her in the general direction of where they parked. “Bye, Shawn! Bye, Andy!”

“Slow your roll there, buddy,” Claire says. “Hands.”

Jack obligingly holds out his hands for her to clean, babbling about the adventures of pirate Captains Jack and Andy and their search for buried treasure, and stays still long enough for her to pat off as much sand as she can off his clothes. She’s probably still going to be cleaning sand out of her car weeks from now but it is what it is. At least it isn’t a repeat of the Great Powder Pop disaster of three months back.

When he’s as clean as he’s ever gonna get, Claire picks him up and buckles him into his car seat. Jack pauses his storytelling when Claire starts the car.

“Claire? Can I get Camel Cwunch?”

Claire spares a glance at Jack via the rearview mirror as she turns into the main road. “We’re headed to Rita’s, bud, and she usually doesn’t carry that. Maybe you can pick something else when we get there?”

“Okay,” Jack says placidly. “Chicken for dinner?”

“Yep. Rita’s famous roast chicken.”

Jack frowns. “But Daddy told me he’s making something special for dinner. He said so when he took me to school this morning.”

“Trust me when I say that I’m saving both of us from a horror beyond your imagining.”

Jack giggles. “You’re funny, Claire!”

“I’m a real laugh-a-minute.” Claire catches Jack’s eye and winks.

“I miss you _thiiiiiiiiis_ much when you’re not here. Are you staying this time?”

“For a little while, yeah.” Claire reaches behind her and takes Jack’s outstretched hand. “I missed you guys too.”

“We can go to the beach! And the festival! And you can help me feed Miss Grizabella! And play forts and Star Wars! I’m Ashoka and you’re Bo and Daddy can be Obi Wan!”

Claire laughs. “Wow, that’s a lot. Any room in there for sleeping?”

“No naps!” Jack sing songs, bouncing in his seat. “No naps!”

Claire pulls into Rita’s parking lot and turns around in her seat. “You’ll be singing a different tune when you get to be my age, buddy.”

Jack squinches his face up at her. “No!”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, as she gets out and goes to unbuckle him from his carseat. “We’ll see about that!” She tickles him and he squirms in her arms, squealing and laughing his little head off until he’s upside down.

“Oh!” he yells. “Marvin! I found Marvin!”

“Huh?” she says, trying to keep her hold on him as he does his level best to dive under the passenger seat. “Marvin who?”

“Marvellous Marvin my talking teddy!” Jack lisps, hand clutching at a stuffed paw as he pulls and unearths a teddy bear that’s about the same size he is. “I thought I losted him!” Jack cuddles the frankly disgusting toy.

Claire’s momentarily speechless but recovers. “How could you have lost something that big?”

Jack shrugs. “Dunno! I’m happy he’s back!”

Claire shakes her head. “You’re such a little nut,” she says, fondly.

Jack beams right back at her.

*

Claire’s helping set the table for dinner while Cas blanches broccoli and carrots on the stove, Carole King playing softly in the background, Jack chasing after the cat in the den.

“Thank you for bringing dinner, Claire,” Cas says.

“No big,” she shrugs, poking absently at a drooping sunflower resting in the butt-ugly handmade vase that passes as the table’s centrepiece.

“I found an interesting book detailing the evolution of traditional American dishes,” Cas says, carrying the roast chicken plated on an equally hideous serving dish to the table. “In the 1950s, they were quite obsessed with jellied dishes. I had planned to try one of the recipes tonight - shrimp and olives in jello - but this is nice.”

Claire makes a face. “Gross, Cas.”

Cas smiles serenely at her.

“I still really don’t know if you’re trolling on purpose or not.”

Cas chuckles and heads back into the kitchen. 

“Any plans this weekend? I thought we could maybe head out to the botanical gardens, maybe hit the zoo after. Jack’s been going on nonstop about lions and tigers and bears, oh my.”

“That would be lovely, Claire,” Cas says sincerely. “The harvest festival is on Saturday, so Sunday would be ideal. Does this mean you’re staying for a while?”

Claire shrugs, looking to the side. “Haven’t got anything lined up for the next little while, thought I’d stay for a bit.”

“You’re always welcome here.” There’s a pause and Claire meets Cas’s eyes. “I hope you think of this as your home too.”

Claire swallows against the bitter lump in her throat. “Yeah, sure.” She looks away.

“The vegetables are almost done,” Cas says, proving that you can teach an old dog new tricks, or a millennia-old angel the nuances of human courtesy. “If you could please help Jack wash up for dinner?”

“That I can do.”

She gets up in time to see Jack chasing the cat into his bedroom, shrieking with laughter, the godforsaken bonnet Cas had knitted for the cat clutched in one fist. “Miss Grizabella, we have to be presentable for dinner!”

Claire snorts. Giving up divinity to herd cats. Good luck with that.

She’s following them down the hall when she hears a knock on the door.

“You expecting company?” she calls out to Cas, on high alert.

“It must be Anne’s brother, David, come to pick up the stuffie she left behind yesterday. It’s on the table by the door.”

Claire spies a stuffed toucan that’s seen much better days on said table. “Uh huh. This kid marking her territory or what? I don’t think she’s come over and not left something behind.”

The doorbell rings this time, followed by another round of knocking. 

“I’m coming! Hold your horses!” she grouches, pulling the door open, ready to rip into David Choi for being goddamn rude, only to find Dean fucking Winchester on the porch.

Her world skids to a stop. Motherfucking shit.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she growls, putting herself in between him and the house, pulling the door halfway shut.

He grins at her, cocky. “Just checking up on you.”

“You followed me?” she hisses, incredulous. She tries to step out onto the porch, shut the door behind her, manoeuvre him back, but he’s one step ahead of her. His boot’s on the threshold, palm spread wide pushing back. He may be an old guy but he’s still stronger than she is. “Seriously?” she glares up at him.

He smirks.

“Claire?” she hears Cas call from inside the house. “Who’s at the door?” he says, voice coming closer.

Dean’s eyes go wide. He shoves and she lets him, closing her eyes, breathing deep. “Fuck.”

“ _Cas?_ ” he says, voice breaking at the end.

“Dean.” Soft, an entreaty.

Dean has Cas’s face cradled in his hands, gazing so intently as if to look away would be to lose him completely. Which, to be fair, has been the case in previous occasions. Cas, for his part, is clutching at Dean’s wrist, thumb stroking soothing motions while a spatula drips water onto the floor, forgotten, in his other hand. His eyes are closed and his smile is beatific.

Claire looks down, feeling like an interloper.

Just then, the cat comes yowling out of Jack’s bedroom, claws skidding on the hardwood floor. Jack follows close behind. “No! Come back!”

“The hell!” Dean yells, startling both Jack and the cat.

They careen into an end table, overturning two ficuses and a fishbowl of seashells. There’s a resounding crash, glass, soil, pottery shards scattering everywhere.

Claire jumps to action but Cas is faster. He’s picked Jack up, incognizant of his own bare feet. “You’re okay, Jack,” he breathes repeatedly into Jack’s hair.

Claire scoops the cat up and tries to smile consolingly at Jack but he’s frozen, eyes wide in terror, staring past her at Dean.

“Jack?” Dean mutters, shock slowly giving way to confusion then anger on his face. “Someone mind telling me what the _hell_ is going on here?” he roars.

Jack startles visibly then, in the blink of an eye, he ages fifteen years. He sobs, burying his face in Cas’s neck.

Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “What the hell,” he mouths to himself.

In the silence, Jack’s sobs are as loud as gunshots.

“I’m sowwy…” he hiccups, face still buried in Cas’s neck. “I’m sowwy…”

Dean’s running his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Fuck.”

Jack’s shoulders are wracked with the tears he’s trying to hold back.

“Dean,” Cas says evenly, arms wrapped around his son, hands rubbing soothing circles across Jack’s back. “You’re scaring him.”

“ _I’m_ scaring him - ”

“Okay,” Claire cuts in, grabbing Dean’s arm and dragging him out the door. And he lets her, is the thing. Which is good, because she’s not up for fighting him when this whole mess couldn’t be clearly more her fault.

She dumps the cat in the entryway, shutting the door behind her, cutting off the sound of Jack’s whimpers and Cas’s soft assurances.

She watches Dean’s agitated pacing across the front lawn. Their closest neighbours are about half a mile down the road, which is good, because what they really don’t need is more gossip about their weird family.

She parks her butt on the front step. “You’re not coming back in until you’ve calmed down.”

He stops. Turns to look at her. She feels the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She forgets he’s dangerous most times. He’s always been good to her, sweet to kids, does his best. A goofy uncle of sorts. Makes her forget he’s a Winchester. All the stories hunters and monsters and ineffable creatures alike whisper in warning in the dark are about Winchesters. 

But she holds his gaze, unblinking, unchallenging.

A beat. He looks away. Grunts. “I need a drink.”

“There’s a bar a few miles down the road thataway,” she says, with a tilt of her head in its general direction.

“Down right hospitable of you.”

She keeps her gaze level. “He doesn’t keep alcohol in the house.”

He lets out a breath, closes his eyes. He mutters to himself. He almost looks like he’s praying.

She holds herself still but at the ready.

He opens his eyes and looks at her. “Down that way, you said?”

She considers him. Gets up, dusts off her jeans. “Yeah, c’mon. I’ll show you.”

*

The bar Claire takes him to isn’t like their usual dives. It’s clean and well-lit and looks like an off-brand TGIF. Hell, there’re seven year old twins coloring in a booth while their parents split a pitcher. It’s why he feels okay abandoning her out front where she’s texting Cas about their whereabouts and pushes into the bar.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, half-disgusted by the alarming display of West coast suburbia. He makes his way to the bar where he’s relieved to see there’s at least some poor schmuck in a suit methodically working his way through a basket of onion rings and smelling like a distillery. Some things remain universal. It’s almost comforting.

“Evening,” says the redhead tending bar. “What can I get ya?”

Dean smiles charmingly up at her. Her expression morphs from polite disinterest to something warmer. It’s like a reflex, he almost can’t help it. “What’s good?”

She leans over the bar, into his space, and runs through the daily specials. “Why don’t I get you started with something to drink?”

“Bourbon. Whatever you have. Make it a double.”

“He’ll have a beer,” Claire cuts in, sliding into the stool next to Dean. “Couple of Harps, Alice.”

The redhead, Alice, does a double-take and recovers admirably. “Claire, hey! Didn’t know you were back in town!”

“Yeah, well, here I am.”

“Here you are…” Alice trails of, smiling awkwardly. She glances between Dean and Claire. “…I’ll be right back with those beers for you and your dad.”

Dean ducks his head and lets out a laugh. Unbelievable.

Claire rolls her eyes. “He’s not - ” she tries to correct but Alice is already all the way across the other end of the bar minding the drunken suit.

There’s a lengthy silence, both of them trying to wait the other out. Dean’s decided to let her win this time, seeing as she’s got all the answers.

“So,” Dean says, turning to face Claire, his elbow on the bar. “You and Alice, huh?”

Claire glares at him. “Like you’re one to talk.”

Dean hums, thoughtful. “So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

He gives her a considering look. “Gonna talk.”

Claire sighs. “Look - ”

“Two harps and I got you a platter of the nachos you like, Claire,” Alice interrupts, serving up their beers. She smiles, waiting for acknowledgement. Claire lets her dangle for a bit. Oof, that hurts, Dean thinks and tries to remember if he’s ever done anything this side of vague assholery.

Claire tilts her head, finally graces the bartender with a smile. “Thanks.” She grabs her beer and the nachos and gets up. “We’re gonna head on to that booth on the far end. Stool’s not the most comfortable and my daddy’s back’s not what it used to be.”

“Oh,” Alice says, glow dimming a little. “Well,” she rallies, “let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Claire says, not looking back.

That’s cold.

Dean nods at Alice, tips his beer in a silent toast and follows Claire.

She’s already slouched down in her seat, chip stuffed in her mouth, glaring defiantly up at him, daring him to make a comment.

Dean raises both arms. “Hey, no judgement.”

Claire huffs but stays quiet. They drink their beers in silence.

If she thinks she can wait him out, she’s got another thing coming. All he has is time.

“Look,” she finally says, after Alice’d come round and brought them their second round. “I don’t know what you think coming here with guns blazing will accomplish but don’t mess this up for them, alright? They’ve got a good life here.”

Dean, leans back in his seat, stretches his legs out and hums thoughtfully. He waits until she lifts her gaze to meet his. “Well, I don’t know what to think, seeing as I’ve only known about this less than an hour.”

“If you’re mad about him keeping this from you, I can’t speak to that.” She leans forward, earnest. “I found them by accident, okay? I wasn’t supposed to but,” here she shrugs, sips at her beer, continues, voice soft. “I always wanted a little brother.”

“Aw, hell, kid,” Dean groans, running a hand across his face.

“No one else knows, from what intel I’ve gathered,” she goes on, blithely ignoring his little crisis of conscience. “And we’d like for it to stay that way.” She pauses, waits on him to drain his drink before continuing. “So please, don’t ruin this for them.”

“Excuse me?”

She holds his gaze, steady and resolute. She’s unflinching. Almost like this is the most important thing. Like it’s her calling. He’s seen that look of devotion in those same eyes before. Years ago. He knows she means business.

“It’s kinda like what you guys are known for.”

He snorts. “And you’re gonna protect the secret that God’s playing at being a toddler in a little beach town in Oregon all by yourself, huh?”

“He’s not _playing_. He’s _three_!” she growls, slapping the table for emphasis.

“And what was that whole thing back at the house? Coulda fooled me.”

She glares at him, disgusted. “You scared him.”

Dean laughs. Mocks her. “Yeah, sure, _I_ scared him.”

She considers him carefully. “You frighten him,” she says after a minute of silence. “Sweetest kid I’ve ever known and he’s terrified of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve seen what he can do.”

Claire stalks off.

Dean grits his teeth, clenches his fist and tries to keep the anger at bay. He’s had almost a year of practice - funny it hasn’t gotten any easier. Better to be angry than to let the overwhelming nothingness take him. Right now he isn’t sure what to think let alone parse what he’s feeling. He wants to run back to Cas, grab him by the shoulders, as if that would be enough to tether an angel to the earth, never let him out of his sight, have things be like they were before, to just _be_. But he also doesn’t want to confront the fact that Cas has been back for what - a little under a year? - and has kept his distance, was content to let them think he was still gone for who knows how long.

And Jack.

Another casualty in the long list of Dean’s failings.

Cas has to know how Dean’s failed Jack, and failed him in turn.

It’s why he’s stayed away. Kept themselves hidden.

Kept themselves safe.

The sound of glass sliding the formica tabletop draws Dean out of his spiral. He looks up and Claire’s pouring a couple of fingers of Jim Beam into a glass.

“Just so you know,” she says, deliberate. “This is for my own sanity than it is me enabling your alcoholism.” She downs the glass, barely winces afterwards. 

Dean feels something approaching paternal at that.

She pours herself another shot but, this time, also graciously includes him as well.

They nurse their respective drinks. She’s staring blindly at the TV but she’s on high alert. Dean looks out into the parking lot, thinks about how long it’ll take him to drive back to the bunker, how many stopovers he’ll have to make on the way in consideration for his old bones.

It’s for the best he leave.

He’s about to tell her as much when she beats him to it. “You can stay.”

He blinks, startled. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Cas says you can.” She fiddles with one of the cardboard coasters on the table. “Maybe…maybe keep your distance from Jack, if you can’t stop yourself saying those things.”

He lets out a breath. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved. “I’ll do my best.”

“It’s all I can ask.”

They drink.

She pours them another round.

Somewhere in the back of the bar, someone starts doing karaoke.

Jesus.

He makes a face. Claire catches his expression and they laugh.

Mariah Careyoke. The universal equalizer.

Alice comes by and swaps their beer glasses for water. They nod in thanks.

“So,” Claire says. “What made you decide to stalk me in the first place?”

“That hunt last week. You had a teddy bear wedged under your passenger seat and Sam found a baby car seat in your trunk when he went to grab the rock salt you keep there,” he says, with a wry twist to his mouth. “You ain’t slick, kid. We thought you’d gotten yourself in the family way.”

She makes a face. “Bite me, grandpa.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

She tries to kick him and he dodges, laughing. “Wow, my hero,” she says sarcastically.

He winks at her, makes a finger gun gesture.

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling now.

He counts it as a minor victory.

They drink some more.

*


	2. Chapter 2

Dean startles awake, hand automatically reaching under his pillow for a weapon that isn’t there, eyes wide and immediately assessing his surroundings. He’s in an unfamiliar place, on a queen size mattress, tucked under a quilt so ugly only a grandmother with glaucoma could love it, in a homely lived-in bedroom, carpet and furniture just this side of well-worn, lush green plants in hanging pots nailed to the ceiling and walls. Two pairs of eyes peer up at him from one side of the bed.

It’s Jack. And a cat.

Dean exhales, his whole body unclenching. Last night, with Cas and Jack and Claire. He doesn’t remember much past the second bottle of bourbon he split with Claire at the not-TGIFridays, vaguely remembers protesting her driving them back and tripping over the front steps as she tried to quietly lug him back into the house.

“G’morning!” Jack whisper-shouts in that way kids do when they’re trying to be quiet but don’t have the whole volume thing figured out yet.

Dean grunts. There’s the mother of all headaches jackknifing its way across the left side of his skull. The morning light’s coming in at an angle through the flimsy lace curtains over the window that says it’s this side of too early. He’s gonna need a shitton of coffee before he can deal with this.

The bed starts moving, Jack scrambling up on top of the covers, and Dean uses what’s left of his strength to force last night’s terrible decisions from coming back up his stomach. 

“It’s breakfast time!” Jack says.

Dean ventures to open one eye. Jack’s sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, cat snugged up on his lap. Jack’s smiling at him guilelessly, eyes huge in his little face. Dean starts to sit up, trying to formulate how best to tell the kid to go away, when he’s caught by the mother of all sneezes.

Jack jumps, startled, and almost falls off the bed.

“Shit!” Dean hisses, making a grab for him before he tumbles off. Who knows if the kid’s capable of cracking his head on the floor or not but Dean’s not gonna risk it. Add that to the list of things he’s gonna have to pry out of Cas when - if - he gets to it. 

The cat yowls, scratching at his arm before leaping gracefully to the floor. Fucking cats.

Jack’s stiff in his arms.

Dean looks him over, assessing. “You okay, kid?”

Jack blinks up at him then laughs. “You sneeze really loud!” He giggles, throwing himself full-body into Dean’s arms, giggling hysterically into Dean’s neck.

“Uh… yeah,” Dean says. He tentatively smooths a hand down Jack’s back in apology. “Allergies.”

“Breakfast time!” Jacks screams in response, grinning up at Dean.

Dean winces, hangover headache rearing back in full force. “What time is it?”

“Before school time,” Jack says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean shrugs. He’s up, he’s probably not gonna be able to go back to sleep, and as long as there’s coffee, there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, surreptitiously sniffs himself, decides that he can skip showering for the moment and pushes the covers off.

Jack clings to him, going on about how he’s excited to learn about the color wheel in school today, his legs going around Dean’s waist, almost like an afterthought. Like he’s sure of his welcome, firm in the certainty that the adults in his life are always going to be okay with picking him up and carrying him places when he’s tired.

Dean decides that that’s another existential crisis he’ll have on another day and braces Jack against one arm, navigating around the hissing cat on the floor to the door. There’s a framed photo of Cas, Claire and Jack hanging on the wall. They look happy. He smiles to himself, cups the back of Jack’s head unthinkingly. Jack snuggles closer.

“Ms Gamage says red and yellow make owange!”

“Uh huh,” Dean says absently. The hallway’s filled with more of the same. Photos of a smiling Jack make up the majority, though Claire and Cas do make occasional appearances. There’s one of Jack and the fucking cat in matching bear costumes that makes Dean laugh.

Jack giggles at him, doing that thing kids do where they laugh because someone else is laughing.

From the kitchen, he can hear Cas ask Claire how she wants her eggs and her mumble-response.

“Bacon!” Jack cheers, sniffing the air theatrically.

“Jesus,” Dean says, as they walk in. “You’re burning the bacon, Cas.” He hip-checks Cas out of the way, swiping the spatula from him. “We got coffee?”

Cas sighs. “I’ll pour you a cup.”

“Biggest one you’ve got,” Dean says, flipping the bacon over with one hand and trying to keep Jack from losing an eye to popping grease as the kid tries to get a good look in with the other.

“There’s bubbles!”

Dean startles when Cas presses up against his side to take Jack from him. Cas is a warm presence against his chest, smelling faintly like lemons and baby powder. Dean resists the urge to breathe him in. Cas trades him Jack for a vat of coffee, pressing the mug into Dean’s palm.

“Careful, Jack,” Cas murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jack’s hair. “Don’t want you getting burned. Why don’t you start eating your fruit while Dean finishes the bacon and eggs?” Cas smiles softly at Dean while he parks Jack at the dining table.

Dean colors, looks away and pretends to concentrate on getting the bacon just right. He downs half his coffee while he’s at it. “You still like ‘em scrambled?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Jack?”

“Yes, please!”

“Claire?”

A grunt. Dean turns around and sees that Claire’s got her head buried in her arms on the table. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Ugh.”

“Okay,” Dean says, cracking more eggs into the pan. “Scrambled it is.” Dean finishes up cooking while in the background, Jack patiently explains the plot of some show with a dog called Bluey to Cas.

“And then Bluey and Bingo danced to the lollipop song!” Jack says. “It goes like this: LOLLIPOP LOLLIPOP, YUMYUMYUMYUM!” Jack stands on his chair and starts dancing. “LOLLIPOP, LOLLIPOP, YUMYUMYUMYUM!”

Cas smiles indulgently up at him, holding on to his legs.

Claire groans and heads for the coffee machine by Dean’s elbow. “Kill me.”

Dean takes pity on her and dishes up the eggs and bacon. “Hey, Jack, how much bacon do you want?”

“Two, please!”

There’s blessed silence for a few minutes as they dig in, just the occasional scrape of cutlery against plates and the pointed silence from Claire at one end of the table as she drinks directly from the coffee pot.

“Why are you awake, anyway?” Dean finally thinks to ask her.

“Someone needs to drop Jack off at school,” she says, getting up to make another pot.

“Claire,” Cas says, patient, while he cuts Jack’s bacon and eggs into bite-sized pieces. “If you’re feeling unwell, I can ask Albert to open up for me.”

“You work?” Dean cuts in, surprised.

“Well, yes,” Cas blinks at him.

“I can do it,” Claire says, not at all convincingly while rubbing at her temple.

“Claire, do you have an owie?” Jack asks, eyes wide and concerned.

“Just a little headache, buddy,” Claire reassures, throwing him a wink, while gingerly leaning against the kitchen counter. “I can take you to school. I don’t want your dad flaking out on work again.”

Cas huffs. “I am not - ”

“I’ll take him,” Dean cuts in before he can even think his offer through. It makes Claire and Cas pause and they both have a pointed, silent conversation over his head which he doesn’t appreciate.

“I can take him,” Dean scowls. He turns to Jack, who’s humming that lollipop song to himself and dragging a kiwi slice through some ketchup on his plate. “Hey, buddy, you want to ride in the Impala with me?”

Jack smiles up at him. “‘Kay!”

“That settles it.” Dean leans back in his seat and smiles, smug. “Kid wants me to drive him. You, sleep off that hangover and you get to be on time for work.”

Cas hesitates and in the ensuing silence, Claire makes up his mind for him. “It’s 3 miles away, what’s the worst that can happen?”

*

The Impala’s not really built with child safety in mind, for a start. He eventually manages to jury rig the thing on using some rope and the lap belt with Cas standing on the front porch, very pointedly silently judging him.

Well, Dean’s very pointedly judging him back for having a car seat with hot pink flower patterns all over it.

It’s an extra fifteen minutes while Cas makes sure that Jack’s snug in his seat to his exacting specifications and then there’s another five minutes’ worth of back and forth ‘i love yous’ and ‘have a good days’ and ‘be safe’.

Dean rolls his eyes. The kid’s going to day school, not war.

They have to double back twice because Jack’s forgotten his lunch box and then because Jack remembers he forgot to pack his homework.

Jesus, the kid’s _three_ \- why does he have homework?

Claire toasts him with her coffee cup from where she’s sat on a patio chair, feet up on the porch railing. “Flake,” she mouths at him from behind her sunglasses.

Dean makes sure Jack isn’t looking his way before he shoots her the middle finger.

“Okay,” Dean says, exasperated. “Last call, we are not coming back. You got everything?”

Jack scrunches his face up, thinking. “Uh huh.”

“Let’s roll.”

Jack giggles.

Dean smiles to himself. The kid’s got an easygoing nature. Always has. Good to know that hasn’t changed. He turns on the radio and puts it on low, keeping an eye out for the turn onto Wilson.

“Oh!” Jack exclaims. “I ‘member riding in your car!”

“You do?” Interesting. Maybe now’s a good time to probe and ask the kid what happened. He’s only spent an hour with the kid and it seems like he doesn’t remember much of what’s went down in the last few years, something Claire was pretty firm about when they spoke last night. Let sleeping dogs lie, was what she’d said - something he’d never have ascribed to someone as brash and confrontational as Claire.

She’d never extracted a promise from him, in any case.

“We played cowboys…” Jack trails off. Dean glances at him via the rearview mirror. He can see the kid’s smile drop off his face, his little body curling in on himself.

“We went to Dodge City,” Dean prompts. “A ghoul case.”

Jack breathing picks up. “I tried to help,” he says softly. “But I was bad.” He starts to hyperventilate. Dean glances back up at him, sees his shoulders shake. “I was bad.” Tears are running down Jack’s face now. “I hurt someone. I always hurt someone.” He’s crying quietly but his hands are clenched on his lap.

Dean glances back up at the road, making sure that it’s clear, when he hears the smack of fists hitting flesh.

He looks back and Jack’s hitting himself on the chest. “I was bad. I was bad.”

“Ah, shit,” he swears and swerves to the unpaved side of the road, hitting the brakes.

“I’m sowwy,” Jack sobs, still hitting himself. “I’m bad. I’m sowwy.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean says, turning back and reaching a hand out to him. “You’re okay.”

Jack doesn’t seem to hear him. “I’m sowwy. I didn’t mean to. I’m sowwy.” He’s hyperventilating and it sounds like he’s close to dry-heaving.

Fuck, it’s breaking Dean’s heart to see him like this. All of three and he sounds so scared and confused. Dean gets out of the driver’s seat and gets in the back next to him. He puts a comforting hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he begs softly.

Jack shrinks back into his seat and presses his lips together, wiping at his eyes and smearing snot everywhere. His shoulders are still shaking from the force of keeping his tears at bay and Dean closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he says to himself. Order a kid not cry, like that’s ever worked, Winchester. He feels like a goddamn idiot.

He unbuckles Jack’s seatbelt and gently picks him up from his carseat. Jack curls into a small ball, face pressed into his knees. Dean’s never been good at this but it’s Jack. No matter what happened there at the end, this is Jack. He can try for Jack.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says, settling Jack in his lap. “It’s okay.”

He rocks him, hand on the back of his head, making soothing nonsense sounds and waits for Jack to stop shaking. “You’re okay,” he says, when Jack relaxes enough to bury his face in Dean’s shirt. “You’re okay,” he repeats, pressing an absent kiss to Jack’s hair. He’s not really sure if he’s trying to comfort one or both of them now.

Eventually, Jack pulls back, looking down at his lap where his hands are clasped tightly, fidgeting. “I’m sowwy, Dean.”

Dean sighs. He runs his hand down Jack’s back then back up again to cup the back of his head. “You’re okay, kid.”

Jack smiles blearily up at him, snot and tears all over his face.

“You’re a mess,” Dean chuckles. He looks around for something he can use to clean the kid’s face before he resigns himself to using his shirt. Hell, it’s damp already where Jack had pressed his face against it. He grabs the hem of his shirt and puts it up to Jack’s nose “Okay, kid. Blow.”

Jack complies, giggling. Dean wipes his face with the other side.

“Gross,” Jack says, inspecting his own snot.

“Yep,” Dean grimaces. He glances at the dash and sees that it’s half past nine. They’re late. Great. Good job, Winchester. Spend all morning trying to get Cas to trust you with his son and blow it within the first five minutes.

“I’m thirsty,” Jack says.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“You get a sick day.”

Jack gasps, hands coming up to cover his mouth.

“Yep,” Dean decides, settling Jack back in his car seat and buckling him in. “You deserve some ice cream and a day at the beach.”

“Ice cream!” Jack cheers, legs kicking out.

Dean smiles at him, chucking him on the chin. “Yep, ice cream, some sun, sand, surf,” he gets back in the driver’s seat and rifles through the glove compartment. He turns the car back on and pops a tape into the deck. 

“You’re missing normal school today but I’m gonna introduce you to the most important school of all: the school of rock.”

 _Good Times Bad Times_ plays over the speakers.

“This is the greatest band of all time, baby.”

Jack happily claps along to the beat.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Dean pulls into an open parking spot across from Gallagher’s, a pharmacy that looks like it’s been around since the ‘50s, located in the town’s main drag. Bonding with Jack is good, in theory, but he almost forgets that the kid’s covered in cat hair and that shit gets _everywhere_. His vision’s blurry and he’s been on the constant edge of a ruined sneeze since he woke up. 

He unbuckles Jack from his carseat and goes to set him down on the sidewalk but Jack absolutely refuses to lock his knees and, after a minute of trying to put him down, Dean gives up and hitches him up under one arm. Jack lays his head on Dean’s shoulder while Dean locks up the Impala one-handed.

“Where we going?”

Dean looks both ways and jaywalks across the street before answering. “Gotta get some medicine.”

Jack gasps. “Uh oh! Are you sick?” He puts his hands on either side of Dean’s head, assessing him and also, incidentally, rubbing his cat hair-covered turtleshell-patterned beanie under Dean’s nose.

Dean sneezes five times, loudly, and in quick succession.

Jack giggles. “You’re loud!”

Dean pushes into the pharmacy. “Yeah,” he says, through his plugged up sinuses. “‘m allergic to your cat.”

Jack puts his hands over his mouth, worried. “Miss Grizabella is making you sick?”

“Nah,” Dean says, putting Jack down. “Nothing some Claritin can’t fix.” He winks at Jack.

Jack smiles up at him. “Oh, good.”

Dean’s phone rings. It’s Claire. Shit.

“Yeah?”

“You done dropping Jack off yet? Got a line on a haunting in Portland. Just some hunters needing back up - I don’t know if you remember Penny Dessertine? Anyway, shouldn’t be more than half a day at most. You in?”

“Uh, about that…”

There’s a pregnant pause on the other end then a put-upon sigh. “What did you do?”

Dean scans the aisles for the allergy section. “Well, I decided me and Jack deserve some R&R time, y’know, hit the beach, get some ice cream, skip school - ”

“Wow,” Claire says, sarcastic. “Cas is gonna kill you.”

“Eh,” Dean says, flippantly. He finds the antihistamines and scans the shelves for the brand he likes. “A little truancy never hurt nobody.”

“Where was this attitude when you were trying to after school special me five years ago?”

“Hey, this is different. Jack’s got permission from an adult.”

“So…what you’re doing with Jack is technically kidnapping. It’s important to me that you know that. You do know that, right?”

Dean bristles. “Hey, he’s my kid - ”

He hears her snort down the line and, so quietly he almost misses it, “Not in any way that counts.”

“Excuse me?”

She plays it off. “Well, you guys enjoy playing hooky. I’ll text you Cas’s number in case the cops stop you. Can you put Jack on? I promised him I was gonna stick around this time and I don’t want him thinking I lied.”

Dean decides retreat is the better part of valour or something and lets it go. “Yeah, he’s right - ” He looks down and there’s no Jack. “Jack?”

“Dean?” Claire says over the line, alarmed.

Dean looks around him, scans the aisle. “Jack?” he says, louder this time.

“Did you lose him?!” Claire yells, voice tinny but distinct over the phone’s shitty speakers.

“Jack?” Dean says again, running to one end of the aisle, panicked, when he hears a shout from behind him. 

“There he is!”

It’s Jack. Thank fuck.

“Thank fuck,” Dean mumbles, falling to his knees in front of the kid, hand going around his shoulders and checking Jack over for any injuries. “You okay?”

“You got losted,” Jack shrugs. “Mrs Andy’s mom helped me find you.”

Dean finally notices the woman holding Jack’s hand. She’s got a full face of make-up on, immaculate hair, a whole bunch of jewelry and an expensive yoga outfit.

“Hi, I’m Addison,” she says, holding out a hand, her Rolex and gold bracelets catching the light.

Dean gets up and shakes her hand. “Dean.”

“Charmed,” she smiles, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

“Uh, thanks for holding on to Jack for me.”

“Oh,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “You know how children are, always getting into trouble.”

“Yep,” Dean nods. He looks down and Jack smiles up at him, hugging his leg. Dean picks him up. “ _You_ are staying put this time.”

“I was looking for Harry,” Jack says, in a reasonable tone. He thrusts a stuffed Harry Potter doll about his same size at Dean. It’s got a huge head and a tiny body and, frankly, looks terrifying. Dean doesn’t know how he could’ve missed it. “Can I keep him, please?” Jack makes with the eyes. He looks just like Cas when he does that.

Ah, shit.

“Yeah, okay, bud.”

“Thank you!” Jack throws his arms around his neck, hugging him and whacking him on the head with the Harry Potter plushy in the process.

Dean fights back a smile, pats him on the back.

Addison smiles at them with a calculating gleam in her eye. “You must be Jack’s - ”

He’s seized by another sneezing fit right then and he’s never been more grateful to have allergies in his life. “Thanks for getting him back to me,” Dean says, thickly. “We gotta go, I need to take these antihistamines ASAP.”

“Well,” she blinks, “tell Castiel I said hello.”

“Will do,” Dean says, shooting her a thumbs up as he makes his way to the checkout counter.

“Bye!” Jack says, waving at her.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she says, waving back. “Dean.”

Uh huh.

Jack’s babbling about how Harry Potter’s going to make a fine addition to his tea parties when Dean remembers that he never hung up on Claire.

“You still there?” he asks, bringing the phone up to his ear.

“I see you’ve had the pleasure of making Addison Parker’s acquaintance.”

He grunts at her as he gets in line.

“Oh, whatever.” He can feel her rolling her eyes at him. “Can you put Jack on?”

He feels completely justified rolling his eyes back but hands Jack his phone anyway. “Claire wants to talk to you, bud.”

Jack all but wrenches the phone out of Dean’s hand. “Claire!”

They finally make it to the front of the line and Dean juggles trying to get his wallet out, keeping a firm hold of Jack and wrestling the toy from Jack’s grip. The old man behind the counter smiles kindly at him.

Jack’s been quietly nodding along to whatever Claire’s saying to him but when the cashier scans his toy into the point of sale, he cuts in. “Claire, I have a new stuffie!”

“That you do, son,” the old man says, handing the toy over gently and smiling indulgently when Jack snatches it back.

“Thank you, Mr Gallagher!”

The man laughs. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be thanking.”

Jack squeezes his arms around Dean’s neck in a hug. “Thank you!” He presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “I love him so much!”

Dean blinks, thrown for a moment, before he recovers. “Youre, uh, you’re welcome, kid,” he says, clearing his throat. “So,” he turns to Mr Gallagher, “what do I owe?”

The old man tells him and Dean pulls out some cash - no sense in using any of the fake credit cards. Jack kicking his legs while he tells Claire just how much he loves her and will miss her makes paying a little challenging.

“So,” Mr Gallagher says, while making change. “You must be Jack’s…?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies, wincing. Luckily the guy doesn’t look up from where he’s counting out pennies. 

Jack thrusts the phone at Dean’s face. “Claire says she wants to talk to you.”

“Sorry,” Dean mouths at the old guy, as he wedges his phone between his shoulder and ear and holds out his hand for his change. “Yeah?”

“I’ve decided to be helpful and call the school and let them know Jack’s not showing up so the teacher’s assistant - who thinks she’s BFFs with Cas, by the way - doesn’t put out an Amber alert. You’re welcome.”

“Mighty kind of ya,” Dean says while nodding thanks at the old guy.

“Don’t say I never did nothing for you,” Claire replies, making fun of his accent.

Jack accidentally whacks Dean in the side of the face as he waves goodbye to Mr Gallagher, yelling a ‘thank you!’ directly into Dean’s ear drum as he does so.

Dean manfully tries to ignore all this as he pushes out into the sidewalk. “Call me if you get into any trouble,” he warns.

She snorts and hangs up on him.

“Wow, rude,” he says, pocketing his phone. He looks at Jack. “Don’t grow up rude like Claire, okay?”

Jack gasps. “I love Claire!” he says drawing out each word petulantly.

“Don’t mean you gotta act like her.”

“I’m gonna be just like Claire when I grow up!”

“Uh huh,” Dean mutters, outgunned and clearly outnumbered.

*

They get to the beach eventually. But first, he promised the kid ice cream. They stop by a quaint-looking tourist trap of a bakeshop and Jack gets a couple of scoops of caramel crunch the size of his head. The middle-aged lady behind the counter is a sweet doting motherly type and she smiles fondly at Jack as she hands it over. He thanks her exuberantly and dives in. Dean bites back a smile.

She’s less inclined to be indulgent with him, which, fair, he _is_ feeding his kid ice cream at ten in the morning. He tries to charm her by asking her for pie recommendations. Overall, it’s a success, in that she doesn’t sic CPS on them and grudgingly boxes him up some marionberry pie and a couple of waters.

He has to put Jack down to juggle all of that and Jack finally allows it.

The beach is just across the street. Jack makes a grab for his free hand.

“Daddy says stop when the light is red, when the light goes green, you can go ahead,” Jack sings absently over a smeared mouthful of ice cream. “Hold my hand and look both ways, then we’ll be safe wen we cross today!”

Dean blinks.

“You forgot to hold my hand in the store and that’s why you got losted!” Jack smiles up at him. “Don’t forget next time.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue then thinks better of it. “Sure, bud. My mistake.”

Jack tugs him along and they reach the sandy shore. “Birds!” Jack says excitedly, pointing at some gulls flapping around in the water. He does a little anxious dance and drops a scoop of his ice cream into the sand. He looks down, stops for a second. “Oopsie-daisy.” He thrusts the rest of the melting cone at Dean. “I’m finished.”

“Uh…” Dean looks down at him. He’s hopping from foot to foot. “You okay?”

Jack nods aggressively. “I want to play with the birds now please.” He wiggles the hand holding his cone up at Dean. “Please.”

Dean thinks fast. “We can’t go in the water, Jack. We don’t have our trunks.”

“But…but…but… birdies!” Jack pouts up at him.

“Here,” Dean says, kneeling down and taking the cone from Jack. “Drink some of this water and then once it’s all gone, we can use it to make a sandcastle.”

Jack considers that for a moment. “‘Kay,” he finally shrugs, taking the cup out of Dean’s hand and gulping down half of it.

Phew.

*

Dean doesn’t remember kids being this exhausting. Hell, he was barely more than a kid himself when Sammy was Jack’s age, and they handled it just fine. But it’s only past one and Dean’s ready to throw in the towel.

After a whole hour of building sandcastles for Jack to hop onto and knock down, Jack suddenly decides that he absolutely cannot stand that sand’s getting in his shoes and he promptly takes them off and throws his socks into the ocean while Dean’s busy trying to keep some gulls from stealing one of Jack’s abandoned shoes.

Then Jack starts squirming and scratching at himself and its only when he starts rolling around beating at the sand with his fists, close to tears, and that’s when Dean realizes he’s sugar crashing and needs a nap. Dean tries to clean him off with some of the leftover water but Jack just throws himself at Dean and buries his face in Dean’s neck. Dean gives up, takes them back to where the Impala’s parked and just collapses into front seat. Jack spreads out and falls asleep with his head in Dean’s lap. Dean rolls down the window and tilts his head back and exhales long and loud.

He checks his phone while Jack’s conked out, sees a few texts and a couple of missed calls from Sam. He snaps a photo of Jack - face covered in dried ice cream and sand - and hits send.

Almost immediately, his phone vibrates with an incoming call. Dean hits the decline button and shoots off a message. “Yeah, it’s really him. No, I don’t know what’s going on. I’ll let you know ASAP.”

He throws his phone onto the dash settles in and tries to follow Jack to the land of nod.

He’s woken abruptly because Jack’s accidentally kneed him in the crotch. Jack’s got Dean’s face in between his sticky hands and says, seriously, “Dean, I’m hungwy.”

So of course they have to go get lunch. They go to a bar and grill next to the bakery and Dean learns the hard way that you do not let kids order spaghetti off the menu and that three year olds don’t have the manual dexterity to eat pasta without assistance. Dean’s flannel is sacrificed to the cause and he tips the server extra for being patient with them while he hauls Jack off into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Jack still wants to play at the beach, so they cross the street again while he sings his hand-holding song and he chases the gulls off the beach while Dean chases him in turn. Dean has never been more grateful for anything than when Jack decides he wants to build sandcastles “but taller, this time!”.

He finally manages to convince Jack that it’s time to head home.

“I can’t wait to tell Daddy about how much fun we had!” He magnanimously allows Dean to carry him back to the Impala and buckle him in.

“Glad you had fun, kid,” Dean says as he works the straps of the car seat.

Jack reaches out hugs him tight around the neck. “I miss you!”

Dean is shocked still and then he softens. He hugs Jack back as best as he can with the car seat in the way. “I’ve missed you too.”

He cups the back of Jack’s head softly when Jack finally loosens his grip enough so Dean can pull back.

Jack beams up at him. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Promise not to tell?”

Dean nods solemnly.

“Daddy misses you too,” Jack says, softly.

Dean feels like he’s been smacked upside the head with a two-by-four. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “I miss him too, kid,” he finally manages.

Jack smiles. “But it’s okay now.”

“Uh - ”

“We’re all together again.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond. Thankfully he’s interrupted by his phone buzzing where he’s left it on the dash. He glances over and it’s Cas.

“Shit,” he says out loud.

Jack gasps, then giggles. “That’s a bad word.”

“Don’t repeat that,” Dean says, pointing at him, and rushes to get into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” he says, accepting the call and starting Baby up.

“Dean, why are multiple sources saying that a large, surly drifter driving a large, loud car has absconded with my son?”

“Who’s saying that?” Dean replies, affronted on behalf of his Baby. She isn’t _just_ a car.

“People around town,” Cas says. “Do you have Jack?”

Dean winces at his tone. “Yeah. We had a good time at the beach, y’know? Figured we were due for some fun.”

“Hm.”

“We’re headed home now, don’t you worry.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Jack pipes up from the back. 

“See?” Dean says, as he puts the car in reverse. “We’re all good here.”

“Are you…are you using the phone while driving a car with my son in the back?”

Fuck.

Dean immediately puts the car back in neutral. “‘Course not.”

“Good.”

“So, y’know, see you soon. Hey, Jack, tell Cas that we’ll see him soon.” He holds the phone out and Jack obliges.

“Hi, Daddy! I’ll see you soon!” Jack blows a kiss at the phone and waves.

“See? All good.”

“Hm,” is all Cas says before he hangs up.

Dean groans quietly and smacks his head on the steering wheel.

“Uh oh, spaghettios,” comes from behind him. Dean prays for strength before turning around to deal with whatever it is Jack’s gotten into now.

*

They finally make it home and he carries Jack up the steps to Cas’s house. They’re both covered in what’s left of the marionberry pie that Jack somehow managed to get both on himself, the car floor and on Dean as well when he went to clean the kid up. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been as exhausted as he is now - not even fighting for his life every minute in Purgatory.

Kids are hard.

“Cas?” he calls out. He’s not a hundred percent sure Cas is home but Jack just dives for the doorknob and twists it open.

Christ. They don’t even lock their doors. He’s on alert, because that’s just who he is as a person but Jack doesn’t seem to harbor the same reservations and does the little wiggle he does that Dean’s beginning to get as his way of saying he wants to be put down.

He immediately makes a run for the kitchen in the back. “He’s in the garden!”

Dean follows at a more sedate pace. He doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to go any faster.

The back door’s been propped open and there’s just an unlocked screen door separating him from where Jack is throwing himself gleefully into Cas’s arms. He can hear Jack shrieking with laughter as Cas spins him around.

Dean pushes quietly out into their space.

The garden’s a riot of color - flowers still in full bloom, plants lush and green and growing with abandon, grass in sore need of mowing but looking all the better for it, trees just shading into yellows and oranges. There’s a wheelbarrow filled with sod and gardening tools laid neatly on an A-frame picnic table to one side, what looks like a vegetable or herb garden in the beginning stages of being turned down for the winter on another and further down, there’s a path running along the river that backs up against the house. And in the middle of it all, there’s Cas and Jack, lying on the grass, foreheads pressed together as Jack tells Cas about his day.

It’s the sort of idyllic suburbia he’s not even equipped to begin imagining.

Cas notices him and graces him with a stern look that’s belied by the humor in his eyes. “I’m told that child abduction is worth at least a year in prison.”

Dean shrugs. “I tend to do very well in prison.”

Cas considers him, careful. “I’m sure you’re very capable.”

Dean looks away, scratches the back of head. “So,” he says, “got the kid back in one piece.”

“He’s missing his shoes. And his socks.”

“Daddy,” Jack says patiently, “they got yucky. I threw them in the ocean.”

“You heard him, Cas. They got yucky.”

“Well, you could have at least tried to get him to put on his spare set. His feet are cold.” Cas has Jack’s feet cupped in his palms and he’s staring at Dean accusingly. 

“Where would I have pulled an extra pair of baby socks from?”

“Not a baby!” Jack crows, rolling away from Cas and continuing to roll into a patch of tulips.

“From his bag,” Cas says blithely.

“His - _school_ bag?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Dean, he’s three. The only things you put in their backpacks are a spare set of clothes, wet wipes and snacks.”

Dean puts up his hands. Surrender is the better part of valor or whatever. 

Cas looks at him, considering, squints and tilts his head. It’s a gesture so familiar, it almost makes Dean’s knees buckle. “Did you feed him lunch?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, flustered. “Spaghetti and some pie. Most of it ended up in Baby’s backseat but I ain’t complaining.”

Cas tilts his chin up. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he finally says, looking down at where he’s fiddling with a weed. “Thank you, Dean. Jack told me he had a wonderful day.” He looks up and smiles softly.

“Um, uh, it was nothing.”

“Dean - ” Cas starts, something of the old divine conviction in his posture.

Dean cuts him off before. “Uh, Jack’s looking thisclose to pulling up your tulips.”

Jack perks up. “Daddy, can I please, _please_ have some flowers?”

That distracts Cas enough that Dean’s able to mumble something about needing to go shower and he makes his escape back in to the house.

*

He gets out of the shower, feeling slightly better but still out of sorts. He’s not sure what he wants to do but he doesn’t feel like sitting around pretending to have a nap either. He decides to be useful and get started on dinner. He makes his way to the kitchen and digs around the fridge and cupboards to see if there’s anything he can easily put together.

He chances a glance out the window as he’s marinating some chicken and he sees that Cas and Jack have woven the tulips into flower crowns and are wearing them as they nap beneath the drooping branches of a willow tree. Cas has Jack wrapped up in his cardigan and the wind blows gently across the garden, swaying leaves casting gentle shadows across their faces.

Dean clenches his jaw, blinks and looks away. His chest is feeling tight so he drinks a glass of water and hopes it isn’t heartburn.

He resolves to concentrate on the chicken rice dish he’s making.

The rest of him doesn’t seem to get the message though. His ears perk up at the sound of laughter and he chances another glance up and Jack and Cas are awake now and Cas is helping Jack water some gladiola over by the far end of the garden.

It hits him out of the blue, looking at Cas patiently explaining something to Jack, helping him tip the right amount of water out of the watering can and pointing out something Dean can’t quite see. Cas looks exactly the same yet completely different at the same time.

He looks just like he did the first time they met - or to be more precise, the first time Dean was able to ‘perceive’ him. A little more careworn but paradoxically seemingly untouched by time. It’s almost enough to make Dean trick himself into believing he’d been able to save him, protect him, shield him from all the mortal weaknesses and failures. But Cas was all the more sweeter for it. Softer. Almost touchable. Almost like he was something Dean could reach out and have. Like he and Jack were something Dean could ask for, could be deserving of.

Dean turns away.

There are some things mortal men can’t have. It’s one of the hard lessons he’s learned in his life. That there are things that you can make yourself unworthy of, is a more difficult one.

He should go. 

He’s an intruder here. Clearly unwanted.

But he can’t help himself. He looks back up, just like Orpheus. because he’s only human, as the saying goes. 

Jack waves up at him, all bright wide grins and unbridled joy. It’s to his never-ending shame that Jack’s exuberant enthusiasm for life is in spite of him.

Cas notices Jack’s distraction and follows his line of sight. He sees Dean. He smiles, benevolent, and beckons Dean over to them. Like Dean hadn’t caused his fall, hadn’t led an angel to temptation and the desolation of human suffering.

But the sun shines kindly down on them, gilding them in an almost blinding halo. They’re happy, they have each other, angel and god-child. The grass is still green, the flowers are still in bloom and the insects buzz gently overhead.

Try as he might, for all their sakes, he can’t resist.

Dean’s only human after all.

He goes to them and, for a little while, he closes his eyes and pretends.

*


	4. Chapter 4

Dean deludes himself all the way through helping Cas with the garden - raking leaves into a small pile for Jack to ecstatically jump into, sending a riot of color into the air - and through to finishing up dinner prep while Cas gives Jack a bath. He’s got dinner all served up and goes to see what the hold up is. He ends up leaning against the bathroom door, watching Cas and Jack reading aloud from a waterproof bath book, a story about a rabbit that’s in desperate need for bath time.

Jack’s hair is spiked up in a sudsy mohawk, the tub’s filled with half as much floating ducks as it is with bubbles and Cas is pressed up against him.

Dean clears his throat, awkward.

Two pairs of bright blue eyes look his way.

“Uh, you guys have been in here a while,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

Cas blinks. “Oh,” he says, genuinely surprised. “Thank you for the reminder.”

“I’m hungry,” Jack also adds, equally bewildered.

“You’ve been in here a good half hour,” Dean teases.

Jack holds up his hands. “I’m all wrinkly!”

Cas smiles. “Like a prune.”

“Yuck,” Jack says, making a face, but obligingly tilts his head back as Cas uses a scoop shaped like a whale to rinse shampoo from his hair, Cas’s palm cupped protectively over forehead, careful not to get water in his eyes.

It’s a reflexive unthinking gesture, unbearably sweet. For some reason it flusters Dean.

“I’m gonna go check on Claire,” he says, pushing away from the doorframe.

Cas graces him with a distracted smile. “We’ll be out in a moment.”

“Sure,” Dean says, and walks away.

He finds himself abstractedly pacing in the living room, unconsciously cataloguing areas where a little improvement is warranted; where the floor needs sanding, places on the wall needing some patching up, the rusty hinges that should be replaced on some of the windows. Not to say that the place isn’t well cared for - almost every surface either has a succulent or an air plant on it, mismatched, scavenged vases hold a veritable plethora of flowers and the sofa is in good shape, what he can see of it from under a mass of cozy blankets and throw pillows - it just needs a little bit of maintenance.

His hands twitch, itching to do something. He tries to placate the strange feeling by shooting off a quick text to Claire but that’s not even close to enough to stem the nameless fight-or-flight response he’s having in this cozy little house.

The emotion follows him all through to dinner, where he’s content to sit and listen to Jack and Cas talk about their day, only speaking up when prompted. He volunteers to do the dishes, just for something to do that isn’t sitting around basking in the reflective warmth of family.

He still hasn’t shaken the feeling when he wanders back into the living room, parking his ass on the far end of the couch at Cas’s silent invitation.

Jack’s engrossed by the movie that’s playing. Dean spares a quick glance at the screen, sees a portly old butterfly singing at a unicorn. He grins. “Hey! The Last Unicorn. Sam was _obsessed_ with this when we were little.”

“Shhh!” Jack whispers sternly, finger up to his lip. Dean chuckles but settles down. Cas winks at him conspiratorially over Jack’s head.

The movie’s bright and colourful and there’s way more off-key singing than Dean remembers there being. He wishes he had a beer.

They get to the part where the hapless magician turns the unicorn human in order to save her from the red bull. The unicorn is distraught, cries that she can feel her human body dying.

Dean swallows thickly against the sudden rise of bile in his throat. He glares at the screen and refuses to turn his head. In the periphery, he can see Jack go quiet, clutching desperately at Cas’s sleeve.

He really wants that stiff drink now.

They continue to watch the movie in silence. They watch the unicorn forget that she was once a unicorn, watch her fall and become human, fall in love with a hero-prince, renounce her immortality and the hope for magic in the world for love. They watch as she becomes a unicorn again, is saved by and saves the prince in turn, returns magic to the world and leaves the prince without a word of goodbye. For a unicorn cannot love a mortal; all he has taught her is how to regret.

She says she is all the better for it but Dean sincerely doubts that.

“Daddy?”

Dean chances a look to the side and sees Jack and Cas, foreheads touching. He sees Cas smile tenderly at Jack, cupping his head. “I don’t regret anything, Jack.”

He presses kiss to Jack’s forehead, cradles Jack’s head on his shoulder. He meets Dean’s gaze. “I don’t,” he says, soft and fierce.

Dean looks away.

Cas gets up, taking Jack with him. “I think it’s time for tired little boys to go to bed.”

“‘m not sleepy,” Jack argues, yawning.

Cas huffs out a laugh, making his way down the hall. Dean gives in to the urge to go after them.

They stop on the threshold of Jack’s bedroom.

Cas turns to face him. “Say goodnight, Jack.”

“‘Night,” Jack says, face still buried in Cas’s neck, while he waves at Dean, closing and opening his fist - a child’s goodbye.

Dean makes a grab for Cas’s elbow. “Cas - ”

“In the morning,” Cas says, gently disengaging. “We can talk in the morning.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue but Cas has already closed the door.

Dean bites back a curse.

He’s on-edge, that antsy feeling of being in this house turned up to eleven.

He makes a break for it.

*

He only knows the one bar in town, so he’s back at the not-TGIFriday’s, nursing a beer, a couple of whiskey glasses sitting empty in front of him.

The redhead bartender from the other night is shooting him sympathetic glances from the other end of the bar, polite but not overly attentive after he’d shot down her initial attempts at small talk.

What is he doing here anyway? Claire’s right. What does he think this will accomplish? Closure? For who? Cas clearly doesn’t need it. It really boils down to his own selfishness. His own weakness.

Once, he could’ve passed it off as vigilance. What’s going on up in heaven, who’s running the show, just how de-powered are Jack and Cas, really?

He’s been too transparent, though. He’s shown Cas that he’s an endless pit of need and want. Can’t really play that off once it’s been brought out. What he can do is make sure that he leaves them as untouched as he’s found them. The last few years, everything they’ve been through… If this is what Cas and Jack want, if this brings them any measure of peace, Dean will do everything he can to preserve it.

He’s fought for free will, for the chance of being able to make _choices_ , for almost his whole life. Damn if he’s not gonna respect Cas’s choice.

Happy endings are relative, after all.

*

He drives back to the little house once he hits that fuzzy sweet spot of clarity that three beers and some whiskey bring - he’s done this long enough to know his limits. A little bit more and it becomes a downer.

It’s late and the house is dark but the porch light is on, so he takes that as unspoken welcome. He forgets that he doesn’t have keys but that’s never stopped him before.

He picks the lock.

He’s used to sneaking in to places, is the thing, but that fucking cat comes out of nowhere and attacks him. He smacks it away on instinct, tripping over a potted plant. The cat lands on an end table, keys and knickknacks crashing to the floor. It yowls and hisses at him.

“Fucking Christ,” he gripes, checking his arm for damage. The thing’s got sharp claws.

The hallway light turns on and Cas stands there, scowling blearily at him. Jack peers out from behind his legs.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, glaring at the cat. “The fucking cat.”

Jack inhales sharply, presses his face against Cas’s hip.

Cas picks him up, tucks Jack’s face into the crook of his neck and shushes him gently. “I’m going to put Jack back to bed.”

Dean shrugs an apology but Cas has already turned away.

Dean’s in the bathroom, running his arm under hot water and rifling through the medicine cabinet for some antiseptic and bandaids when Cas walks in on him.

Cas takes the bandaids from him and shuts off the tap. His shoulders are stiff and his movements are jerky and he’s glowering but his hands are soft when they cradle Dean’s arm to inspect the scratches.

Dean looks at the gentle curl of Cas’ hair, his exposed nape, his graceful fingers as they clean Dean up. Cas is barefoot. It makes him jolt with surprise. His feet are elegant, long toes and delicate arches. He realizes he’s never seen them before, never seen Cas this vulnerable, not even the first time he lost his grace.

“You were out drinking,” Cas says as a statement of fact.

Dean shrugs. “Needed to clear my head.”

Cas is silent as he sticks a bandaid over the last of Dean’s injuries. “You have to stop doing this,” he finally says, looking up and forcing Dean to meet his gaze head-on. His eyes are clear and his expression hardens. “If not for yourself, then for Jack.”

Dean turns stony. “A few beers never hurt nobody.”

Cas opens his mouth, looks ready to argue, but thinks better of it. He turns away and starts putting things back in the first aid kit. “I won’t have that in this house.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He wants Cas to look at him but Cas adamantly refuses to. He’s washing his hands, slow and methodical.

“So, what? I’m not welcome here anymore?”

Cas dries his hands on a bright yellow towel. There’s little bees embroidered on one side. He folds it fastidiously and hangs it back on its hook. “Not when you’re like this,” he says, still refusing to look at Dean. “Not when you scare Jack.”

Dean reacts unthinkingly, hands clenching into fists. He wants to hit something. He notices Cas tensing, looking down at his fists. Dean wills himself to stop, to uncurl his hands. He grips the sink, tries to tamp down the instinctual violence. “Christ.”

“I can’t allow you to hurt him,” Cas says, tentative, hand coming up to cover Dean’s white-knuckled grip on the sink, trying to soothe the hurt of his words. “Not anymore.”

Dean pushes away from the sink, pushes Cas away, and stalks out the door.

He hears Cas call out softly for him but he ignores it and walks out the front door.

He sleeps in the Impala that night.

*

He’s plagued by nightmares. He dreams of Jack’s face, the hurt he was too young to hide, every emotion on blatant display as Dean spat curses at him, tried to kill him, sacrifice him, more times than he’d like to admit. He dreams of that house in North Cove, of kneeling before Cas’s body, the ashes of his burnt out wings spread across the sand.

He dreams of all the times he’s lost Cas and he dreams of Cas leaving him, that last time.

He wakes up with bile in the back of his throat, choking on a scream.

It’s barely light out, sun valiantly attempting to push through what looks like rain for the rest of the day. He gets out of the back seat, head throbbing, mouth dry, his body protesting at being contorted into a space it no longer fits into. He cracks his back, winces. He looks at the cheery little house, imagines in his mind’s eye Cas and Jack nestled safely in their beds. They’ll be up soon. For school, for work, tied to this human existence in the most mundane of ways.

His jaw clenches.

Unthinkingly, he gets in the front seat. He starts the car and drives.

He wanders aimlessly around town - it’s quaint and peaceful, quiet still in the early morning. He tries to let it wash over him but he’s too agitated. He passes by the turn for the highway and makes an abrupt 180 and gets on the 101.

He drives down the coast, mindless, trying to let the beauty of it soothe him.

He drives until Baby runs out of gas.

He ends up in Gold Beach. He snorts to himself. These aren’t the kinds of beaches he was wishing for in the rare moments he’s thought about retirement. He idly thinks about driving down to Mexico while he gases up. He’s got time now. He’s got nothing but time.

He ends up parked on the side of the highway, just a ways down from a spot called Kissing Rock. He pulls out his phone and sees the eight missed calls and twice as many messages from Sam. He decides to throw his brother a bone.

“Hey.”

“Dean? Where are you? What’s going on? Is Jack there? What about Cas?”

“Whoa, Sammy, slow your roll there.”

Dean can feel the bitchface from all the way in Illinois. “Excuse me for being worried. You get a bug up your ass thinking Claire’s gotten herself in the family way and decide to invade her privacy and literally stalk her halfway across the country and the next thing I know you’re sending me a picture of a de-aged Jack. How did you even find him? What’s going on!”

“I wouldn’t call it de-aged so much as the outside matching the inside,” Dean replies.

“Don’t give me that!”

“Relax, Samantha,” Dean says, long-suffering, but proceeds to tell Sam a truncated version of the last couple of days.

Sam’s quiet for a while, clearly processing.

“Huh,” he eventually says.

“Yeah,” Dean echoes.

“How long do you suppose they’ve been back?”

“Couple of months, less than a year?” Dean speculates, bitterness colouring his tone. “Does it matter?”

Sam hums thoughtfully.

Dean lets the quiet stretch. He looks out at the beach, notes a few fat-bellied seals idling on the sand.

“I can sort of see where Cas is coming from,” Sam finally says, interrupting the silence.

Dean grunts.

“No, I’m serious. Jack’s more or less depowered, Cas got out of the Empty so he most likely doesn’t have his Grace anymore…his priority’s always been keeping Jack safe. We don’t exactly have the safest lifestyle, Dean,” Sam says. Dean almost hates him for sounding reasonable. “Maybe he was waiting ’til they got more settled before reaching out.”

Dean grunts. “Yeah, well, Cas is pretty good at walking away, don’t know why we expected this to be any different.”

“Dean…”

“Whatever,” Dean bites out.

They’re quiet for a long while.

Eventually, Sam breaks the silence. “So, are you staying?”

“Mighty presumptuous of me when they haven’t asked me to.”

“Dean - ”

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t even want us knowing he wasn’t dead - ”

“Dean.”

He sighs. “Sam.”

“Do you _want_ to stay?”

Dean worries at a loose thread on his jeans, tries to avoid the question.

“Dean,” Sam says again, gentler this time. “A house, big backyard, plenty big enough for a garden and space for Jack to run around in…it’s even by the water.” It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, goes unsaid but resounds loud enough to deafen. “Don’t you want to at least try?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. He’s always the one everyone leaves behind. He can feel it now, even, with Sam and Eileen. Everyone moves on but him. Everyone leaves him. So he changes tracks. Not completely but enough to throw Sam for a loop. “D’you ever think about what Bobby - our Bobby - would’ve made of Jack?”

It’s not a new thought. He’s often wondered about it, especially on those days he’d been able to try with Jack. It’s not surprising; Bobby’s the blueprint, after all.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Bobby would’ve loved him.” Sam pauses and Dean can tell he’s giving it some serious thought. Sam laughs again, a release of tension. “Dean, he’s your son. Of course Bobby’d’ve loved him.”

Shit, now Dean’s got tears in his eyes. “Enough with the Hallmark moments,” he gripes.

“You started it,” Sam grouses back.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean snorts.

“Oh, shit,” Sam says. “I gotta get going. Eileen says she just managed to book us some face time with the head pathologist down at Northwestern Memorial.”

“Whipped,” Dean mutters into the phone.

“You’re one to talk.”

Dean chooses to ignore that. “Tell Eileen I said hi.”

“Sure,” Sam says. He hesitates for a second then continues carefully. “Dean, you know we’ll always be family no matter what, right?”

Dean grimaces. “Christ, Sam, what did I say about the Hallmark moments?”

Sam huffs. “Dean…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, trying not to let on that he appreciates the sentiment.

“I really gotta go but tell Cas and Jack to call me when they can, okay?”

“Sure,” Dean says and puts them both out of their misery and hangs up on him.

He sprawls out across Baby’s hood, leans back against the windshield and watches the sky get progressively lighter. He tries to clear his head and wonders if this is what peace is supposed to feel like.

When he can’t take the quiet anymore, he checks in on Claire, bites back his amusement as she calls him out for hovering and then _she_ hangs up on him.

He chuckles to himself.

He climbs up onto Baby’s roof, sunglasses on, a bottle of Jack next to him and just lies there.

He dissociates, listening for cars coming down the road, idly identifying them by the sound of their engines. It’s a game, but not one he’s particularly interested in winning. He doesn’t bother to check to see if he’s right.

He eventually gets up, hot and sweaty and thirsty and unscrews the cap on the bottle of whiskey. He goes to take a drink but stops himself.

He can’t help but think of what Cas said to him. He wants to discount it. A little drinking never hurt anybody. He could stop at anytime. What would be the point, though? He’s got it under control and he’s always known his limits.

He takes a sip as if to prove it to himself.

It burns going down and sours on his tongue.

He could stop if he wanted to.

He would know when. He isn’t like his old man.

Fuck.

He looks down at the bottle, amber liquid sloshing around, almost golden under the sun.

He hurls it down the beach, listens for the satisfying crash of glass as it shatters against the rocks.

It doesn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it makes him feels worse. He rubs at both eyes with the heel of his palm. Shit, he’s gotta curb these impulses if he wants to get Jack to trust him again.

He freezes, realization dawning.

He _wants_ to try.

He’s never wanted something this tangible so fiercely.

He _wants_ to be a good father, he _wants_ to stay here, he _wants_ to try to love Cas and make him happy, he wants to work towards absolution.

And for the first time in his life, he thinks he’s allowed.

Fuck.

He can’t help the hysterical laughter bubbling out of him. HIs shoulders shake from the force of it, his grin threatening to split his face in half.

Everything he wants, laid out in front of him, if he could only get up the courage to ask.

He sniffs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Well, nobody ever accused Dean Winchester of being a chickenshit.

*

He pulls up to the blue house a little past five and parks next to Cas’s beater. He’d driven up and down the coast, psyching himself up, mulling over what he’s going to say, worst-case-scenarios playing out in his head. He’s glad he’s timed it right, that Cas and Jack are home - any later and he’s sure he’d have talked himself out of this.

He tells himself he can do this, that the worst’s already happened, that he’s got nothing to lose. He picks up the bouquet of flowers and the box of See’s nougat candies he’d picked up at one of those roadside tourist traps, takes a deep breath, and gets out of the car.

He walks across the front yard, past the cheery spread of goldenrods and purple irises, up the rickety front steps, all the way to ringing the doorbell, _You can do this_ a silent invocation as he rings the bell.

He doesn’t wait long.

The door opens and Cas is stood there in bare feet and a sweater worn thin in places, absent smile slowly giving way to confusion.

“Dean?” he says, voice steady but clearly nonplussed.

“Hey, I - can I come in?”

There’s the slightest hesitation but Cas nods, shoulders squaring, and steps aside to let him in.

Dean looks around the living area, peers down the hall to the kitchen. “Where’s Jack?”

“He’s with Mia - Dr Vallens - ” Cas replies, braced against the shut front door. “What - what are you doing?”

“Um, here,” Dean says, thrusting the flowers and chocolate at Cas. “These are for you. The chocolate’s mostly for Jack…”

There’s a beat where Dean thinks he’s going to be left hanging but Cas eventually takes the gifts, smiling in bemusement. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely.

They stand there awkwardly. Dean scratches the back of his neck.

“I should put these in water.” Cas heads for the kitchen and, with some relief, Dean follows.

“So, Mia?” he broaches, watching Cas reach for a ceramic pitcher on one of the kitchen cabinets. He has to stand on his tiptoes. Dean can’t help but find it absurdly charming. He’s embarrassed for himself.

“Yes,” Cas says absently. He’s at the sink, filling up the pitcher with water. “She calls every Friday and she and Jack have a good session together.”

“That’s…nice,” Dean says, at a loss for words. God needs therapy. Huh.

“It’s good for him,” Cas says, defensiveness creeping into his tone. “There are things he needs to work through and, even though I dearly wish I could help him with it, there are some things that are just beyond my ability.”

Dean takes a moment to process that, watches Cas arrange the flowers to his liking, his head bent and shoulders stiff.

Dean clears his throat. “That’s, um, that’s good. Good for Jack.”

Cas nods. “Mia’s pleased with the progress they’re making.”

“Uh, good. I’m glad for him.”

“Yes, so am I.” Cas braces his hands on the counter and finally meets Dean’s eyes.

“So, um, about last night…” He trails off, anxiety coming back tenfold under Cas’s patient gaze. He coughs, nervous. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Cas’s expression softens. “Of course.”

“No,” Dean says, sudden and harsh. “No.” He moves closer until there’s just the kitchen counter between them. “It shouldn’t be that easy. I’ve done some pretty unforgivable shit to you - ”

Cas shrugs. It’s such a small, _human_ gesture. “So have I.”

“Cas, no - ”

“What do you want, Dean?” Soft and patient.

“I want this, I want you. To be happy. To build something good.”

Cas swallows, looks away.

Dean feels himself go cold all over. “Am I too late?”

It’s endless moments of waiting on a bated breath, staring at the delicate curve of Cas’s spine, the fragile nape of his neck, his dark head.

“I’ve wanted you even before I knew what it was to want,” Cas finally says into the still quiet in the kitchen. “I’ll always love you. You’re an inextricable part of me, how can I not? But these months with Jack - I’ve come to realize all over again what it means to be a father and all the joy and heartbreak it entails. I’m his _father_ , Dean,” he finally looks up, and there’s a tear making its way down his cheek. “I’ve chosen you over Jack before and I have never felt more ashamed. It’s not a situation I ever want to find myself in again. So I’m taking that choice off the table. He’s my son. I live with the guilt of that every day and if all I have left is the span of a human life, I would rather not have to make that choice ever again. You can’t ask that of me, not twice.”

“I’m not asking you to choose,” Dean says, mouth dry.

Cas is openly crying now. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Dean breathes out. “No.” He wants to reach out, wants to touch Cas, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. “I was wrong for that.” Dean sees the grip Cas has on the counter, his knuckles white from the tension. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply. “You’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done to him, will you?”

It lingers in the air between them, palapable.

Eventually, Cas sighs. “That’s the thing - I’ve already forgiven you. I’m terrified of what I’ll let you get away with. If I can’t protect my son, what kind of father does that make me?”

Dean finally gets it. All the time he’s tried to protect Sam from his own father, he never realized he’s become him. The angry man in this house. It’s so much easier to pretend when Jack doesn’t look like he did then, when he’s confronted with a Jack who looks his actual age. He could never fathom doing the things he did to a helpless child. He thought that made him better than his own father, turns out it’s more of the same.

“Is this it?” This can’t be it. “All that stuff you said, back at the bunker with Billie and the Empty - what was all that?”

“I still love you. Of course I still love you. You’ve taught me to how to feel, how to be human, how to love…You’ve given me so much. You’ve given me Jack. I know how I’m supposed to love him because of you. But there’s a part of me that’s scared that you don’t know how to.”

Dean feel the tears well up. He can’t have come so close only to lose everything all over again. “I want to try. Will you let me?” He reaches out, instinctive, but stops himself. It surprises him when Cas reaches back, grips his hand tight where it’s resting on the counter.

“I want to,” Cas says, trembling.

Dean doesn’t know which one of them moves first but he’s suddenly got Cas in his arms and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let go now. “I’m gonna try my damnedest,” he whispers into Cas’s hair. “I’m gonna do my best to make you so happy - both of you.” He can feel Cas’s tears against his neck. “I’m gonna spoil Jack so rotten you’re gonna hate me.” Cas huffs a laugh. Dean tilts his head down, presses his forehead against Cas’s. “Will you let me?”

Cas’s lip trembles. He closes his eyes and breathes out a quiet surrender. “Yes.”

Dean kisses him then, overjoyed. Cas huffs out a laugh into his mouth. It’s nothing like sparks and fireworks and the world bursting out into song. Instead, it’s a homecoming. He’s home now.

He presses Cas up against the counter, deepens the kiss, coaxes Cas’s mouth open. Cas buries his hand in Dean’s hair, tugs, and Cas is in charge now, kissing Dean back with a ferocity that takes his breath away. With a little coaxing, he gets Cas on the counter, legs coming to wrap around his waist and they’re necking like teenagers. It’s the happiest Dean thinks he’s ever been.

He’s suddenly desperate for more skin. He rucks up Cas’s sweater, palms the small of his back under his shirt as Cas uses both his hands to tilt Dean’s head, change the angle of the kiss to his satisfaction.

“Cold,” Cas hisses, when Dean runs his hands up and down his back.

Dean chuckles. “Sorry,” he teases.

Cas narrows his eyes and wraps himself even tighter around Dean, pulling him down in a punishing kiss. Dean smirks into it. Personally, this is the complete opposite in terms of incentive for him to behave.

Something beeps and Cas pulls back. Dean, undeterred, presses a line of kisses down his neck.

Cas hums in pleasure.

“Dean,” he says, trying to wiggle off the counter.

Dean hums in response, sucking absently on Cas’s collarbone.

“Dean,” Cas tries again, pushing Dean’s head firmly away.

“Whuzzat?”

Cas huffs in amusement. “Jack’s session is almost over. I have to end the call with Mia.”

“Oh, right,” Dean says, returning to reality. He takes a step back, watches as Cas pulls out his phone and shuts off the alarm.

“You could come say hello to Jack,” Cas offers.

“I’d like that,” Dean says, suddenly shy.

Cas graces him with one of his rare wide grins. “He’d like that too.”

Dean’s inexplicably nervous. It must be obvious because Cas takes his hand and gently tugs him down the hall to Jack’s room.

Cas pushes the door open to Jack sitting at one of those plastic kiddie table and chair set ups, laptop open in front of him. He looks up at their entrance and he smiles, turns back to the laptop and waves. “Daddy’s back! Goodbye, Ms Mia! See you next time!”

“Goodbye, Jack,” comes Mia’s voice from the laptop speakers.

Cas smiles, bends to press a kiss to Jack’s hair. “Did you have a good talk with Mia?”

“Uh huh!”

“That’s good.” Cas crouches down and touches Jack’s hand. “Dean is here. Do you want him to come say hi?”

Jack face scrunches up - he’s thinking about it. Dean waits and hopes. Jack eventually nods his permission. “Can we play tea party?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, clearly holding back his amusement. He turns to Dean. “Do you want to play tea party?”

Dean shrugs, helpless. “Not sure I know the rules.”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, finally looking his way. “I’ll teach you!”

“Okay,” Dean says, relieved, and steps into Jack’s room.

Cas reaches out and squeezes his hand in reassurance, graces him with a smile.

Dean squeezes back.

“I’ll be right outside,” Cas says, picking up the laptop, oblivious to the sudden spike of panic those words send through Dean. “I need to debrief with Mia.”

And then he’s gone. It’s just Jack and Dean.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, unsure of what to do next when he hears Jack say, “Dean?”

He looks down and Jack’s got a plastic tea set on the table and a bunch of stuffed animals sitting on the chairs.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You can’t play tea party standing up.”

Dean blinks then nods. “You’re right,” he says. He looks at the plastic chairs in consternation. “I’m just gonna sit on the floor, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“So, what’s going on here?

Jack’s face lights up and he proceeds to tell Dean all about his stuffie friends - it’s a mix of Alice in Wonderland and a soap opera, with stuffie Harry Potter being the unwelcome newcomer everyone’s wary of. Dean’s hard-pressed to admit he doesn’t find it compelling.

Jack pours him some imaginary tea and spends a good long while making sure Dean holds his teacup to Jack’s exacting specification. “No! You hold it like this!” And proceeds to demonstrate.

Dean teases him and pretends to not get it.

Jack sighs impatiently, grabs Dean’s hand and tries to pry his pinky up and out.

“Sorry, I don’t think my finger knows how to do that,” Dean says, biting back a smile.

Jack shakes Dean’s hand in exasperation. “Dad!”

Dean’s stunned.

“Grr,” Jack says, still working at Dean’s pinky. Dean’s shocked enough to let him get away with it. “Yay! Good job, dad!”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean puts the plastic cup down on the table, movements stiff. “Hey, Jack?”

Jack’s carefully putting Dean’s cup back on its saucer. “Hmm?”

Dean chooses his words carefully. “What do you think about me staying here with you and Cas?”

Jack shrugs. “Okay.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”

Jack’s tracing the patterns on his teapot with his finger. Dean waits him out.

“I promise I won’t be mad if you don’t wanna,” Dean eventually says.

“Daddy’s happy when you’re here.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “What about you? Are you happy I’m here?”

Jack shrugs. “I missed you. I miss Claire too when she goes away. Are you going away again?”

“I don’t want to. I want to stay with you and your daddy.”

Jack smiles up at him. “Okay!”

Dean hesitates. It shouldn’t be this easy. His conscience eats at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t always a good dad to you and I’m sorry that I get angry and scare you.” Jack scoots close and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I want to be a better dad to you, Jack. I’m still learning, though. I’m not gonna be the best at it, but I want you to know that I’m gonna try my best, okay?”

“It’s okay,” Jack says, little face serious. “You’ll learn. Like with tea party! You’re getting better, dad.”

Dean laughs. He pulls Jack into a hug and Jack’s arms come up and squeeze him tight around his neck. “You’re a good teacher.”

He notices movement out of the corner of his eye and he looks up to see Cas leant up against the doorway, beaming down at them.

“Love you!” Jack says, snuggling into him.

“You too,” Dean says back, cupping the back of Jack’s head, and smiles back up at Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small coda left but I wanted to get this out there today as tribute to the DeanCas wedding. It's been a blast, folks!
> 
> Btw, if y'all wanted to see what the house looks like, it looks something like [this](https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/13475-Trask-River-Rd_Tillamook_OR_97141_M11546-80570#photo1). (Insert millennial looks at house they'll never be able to afford joke here.)


	5. Coda

It isn’t easy but then again he never expected it to be.

He and Cas have an argument - because of course they do - about Dean taking the couch. He’d been too hungover that first night to realize he’d kicked Cas out of his own bedroom so they have a fight over Dean offering to sleep on the couch that Jack curtails by declaring a sleepover. He spends that first night in bed with Cas, Jack cuddled up between them. 

It’s the ass end of dawn when Dean finds himself clinging to the edge of the mattress, Jack’s foot pressed firmly against his kidneys, but it’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in a long time.

He gets up and gets started on breakfast - puts the coffee on and makes pancakes from scratch.

He’s sat on the front porch, nursing his third cup of coffee, nodding to passing joggers while watching the sun rise and lets idle formless plans drift in and out of his head.

Claire rolls up a little past eight, takes one look at him and nods to herself. “Good,” she says, climbing up the steps. “Can’t say I was looking forward to handing out an ass whooping this early in the morning.”

Dean studies her right back, notices the tiny gash on her jaw, the bruised knuckles, the weary slump to her shoulders. His heart clenches with equal parts fondness and worry for her. “Ye of little faith.”

She snorts. “Nice to know you can learn to get out of your own way.”

“They’ll make a role model out of me yet.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Butt out.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve got pancakes and bacon,” he says, a peace offering.

She blinks. “Fine. Lead the way.”

He smiles and claps her on the shoulder.

Eventually, she’ll talk about whatever’s going on between her and Kaia and he’ll have to decide if it’s worth breaking her confidence to let Jody in on the story. Later, he’ll have to figure if it’s his place to have that talk with her about going at this alone, if it’ll be worth anything coming from him. He’ll have to work out how all their rough edges fit together - all of them puzzle pieces from different burnt out pictures trying to make some sense of what’s left behind.

But that’s all for later.

Right now, there’s easing Cas and Jack awake so they can have what passes for a family breakfast. There’s trying to talk them both out of going to the farmer’s market. There’s Claire laughing all the way to her bedroom for a nap while they ignore Dean’s protests and make him carry all of Cas’s reusable canvas totes and net bags while Cas and Jack ruin their lunch with all the free samples from the market vendors.

Dean will drive them home a little after lunch, make them sandwiches using the peach honey jam Cas insisted they get five jars of after interrogating the vendor about her apiary. Dean doesn’t know it yet but he’ll eventually build Cas his first dozen bee boxes. In the early afternoon, Jack will settle in for a nap with Claire while Cas tends to his garden. Dean will resist the impulse to reach for a beer - the first of many times he’ll have to actively fight the urge - and idly look up AA meetings. He’ll sit at the kitchen table and try very hard not to think about having a drink and he will, every so often, look out into the garden and see Cas limned in sunlight. It will help a little. It will be a good reminder of what he stands to lose.

In the late afternoon, he’ll be dragged back to town so they can all go to the harvest festival. He and Claire will have a little competition shooting metal ducks. He’ll lose terribly and give Cas the little duck keychain consolation prize while Claire helps Jack carry a huge misshapen Donald duck stuffie.

They’ll gorge themselves full to bursting with corn dogs, turkey legs, fried Snickers bars and settle in to watch the fireworks splitting a funnel cake dripping with powdered sugar and something called an elephant ear.

Dean will lean back, look at Jack and Claire’s happy smiles illuminated red and gold from the fireworks, and he’ll determinedly crunch the ice from the cup of ginger ale he’s been nursing all evening.

Cas will look shyly back at him and, very tentatively, hook his pinky over Dean’s thumb.

It’s a good start.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I hope y'all enjoyed it and thank you so much to everyone who's followed along and commented! I genuinely treasure each and every one!
> 
> I had to cut out a few things that I wanted to mention here since it's a bit of a plot hole - Cas and Jack never have to worry about money because Auntie Rowena provides. There’s a music box on Cas’s dresser that just has an unending supply of cash. Not entirely relevant but it makes me laugh.
> 
> Other irrelevant things: as I was writing this, I pictured Dean growing out his hair from the pseudo-military buzzcut to longer mountain man (S16! lol) style. Cas I pictured as S4!waif Cas cos the contrast between the two amuses me. But picture whatever you like!
> 
> Re: Kaia and Claire - I know we want them to be UHaul lesbians but I think it's more realistic for them to have fights about Claire's hunting/response to her trauma and Kaia's trauma/desire to be normal. Other than that, I implied that Claire is much better at building connections with other hunters than either Winchester and she plays up every other hunter's assumption that she's Dean's kid to her advantage until it's not. The epitome of sowing and reaping LOL.


End file.
